


Happy New Year, You’re My Only Vice

by YlviAndTheAbyss



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - 1990s, Dirty Talk, Dominant Tom Riddle, F/M, Female Harry Potter, Hypersexuality, Light BDSM, Minister for Magic Tom Riddle, Panty Kink, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 03:22:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29851815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YlviAndTheAbyss/pseuds/YlviAndTheAbyss
Summary: Tom meets the eye of a girl, sylphlike and small, clothed in a pale yellow satin that’s more appropriate for the bedroom than polite society. Her wild hair frames vividly green eyes and a black choker accentuates her elegant neck. With those eyes and that hair, who else could she be but the Potter’s daughter?
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Comments: 7
Kudos: 129





	Happy New Year, You’re My Only Vice

**Author's Note:**

> _I should be continuing the fic I started with an actual plot. I dunno, I guess I’m so obsessed with this ship that I need to do all the AUs._ 🙈

  


_December 31st, 1997_

The ballroom was gleaming, illuminated by the massive crystal chandeliers that sparkled overhead. All around her finely dressed men and women conversed, drank merrily, danced. Holly sipped champagne as she watched couples waltz over the polished harlequin marble. 

She’d never seen a house so grand. It was no wonder Draco was such a spoiled, arrogant prick, having grown up in _this_ ridiculous opulence. 

Malfoy manor teemed with Ministry employees and their families, all gathered for the New Years Eve party celebrating Minister Riddle’s first year in his position. With his birthday falling on the same day, the house elves had produced a spectacularly decadent cake for the occasion. 

The youngest Minister for Magic in Britain’s history was a popular man. Efforts for reform had proven fruitful under his leadership, galvanising their stagnant world. Legislations passed might not have all in agreement, but they were varied enough that many were content. 

Riddle seemed more a force than a man. He had not only vision, but the determination to bring it to fruition. Not only brilliant of mind, but tall of stature, he cut an imposing figure in his perfectly tailored suit. Holly watched him socialise with their hosts, taking in his angular features, the striking contrast of parted dark waves against pale skin. He was, without exaggeration, the most beautiful man she’d ever laid eyes on. One could hardly blame her for staring so shamelessly, could they?

At least that’s what she tells herself when he spots her and his full, perfect lips curve into a knowing smile.

 _Fuck_ , she thinks. She downs her drink and leaves in search of another. Or four.

~ ~ ~

Leaning against the wall, Holly thinks Ron and Lavender had the right idea. She wonders if she should track down Ginny for a “walk” in the garden as well. Were she and Dean still a thing? Holly would rather slit her own throat before approaching Draco, and she didn’t really know anyone else that well...

She hears the clicking of shoes and looks up to see _him_ walking towards her.

“Hello, Minister,” Holly greets, noticing just how much Riddle towers over her. Liking it.

“Hello Miss Potter,” he says, flashing that disarming smile. “Resting your feet?” 

“I’m not one for dancing, really.”

“Oh? Why not, if I might ask?”

“Not very partial to having my arse groped and my toes stepped on, I suppose.” It’s really more that she’s shite at it, but the deep chuckle is worth the risk of her cheeky response. The sound somehow warms her and sends goose flesh up her arms all at once.

“Well, lucky for me then. I won’t lie, I’m glad I’ve caught you alone,” Riddle admits. “You look stunning. Ethereal, really.”

Her cheeks heat and damn it, she can’t look him in the eye as she answers, “Thank you, sir.”

“What’s your name, darling?”

 _Oh_ , Holly thinks, feeling drunk on more than just champagne. 

“I’m Holly.” She extends a hand with her most coquettish smile. “You don’t look so bad yourself, you know.” Riddle’s lips are soft against her knuckles.

“Thank you, Holly,” he replies and it’s the sweetest sound, her name from his lips. His hand leaves hers with a caress of his thumb and she can’t suppress a shiver. 

“Happy birthday, by the way,” she remembers to say, before asking, “Are you having a good time?” 

“I am, Holly. I can think of something that would make it even better, though.”

“Can you?” she says, hoping it’s the same thing she’s thinking.

He steps closer and leans in to answer her question with another question. It sends a shiver up her spine.

“Would you like me to show you, darling?”

 _God yes_ , she thinks. 

~ ~ ~

Tom Marvolo Riddle was well used to the stares of strangers. The eyes of others followed him long before his rise in the Ministry. From a boy of thirteen he was well aware of the allure his looks held. As a young man he knew he could have anyone he wanted. He hadn’t particularly wanted the girls who looked his way at Hogwarts. Or even that many of the women after, really, but needs must. And his needs were... unconventional. There was only so much self control a man could exercise when women came to him so willing and eager.

But tonight is different. Tonight he meets the eye of a girl, sylphlike and small, clothed in a pale yellow satin that’s more appropriate for the bedroom than polite society. Her wild hair frames vividly green eyes and a black choker accentuates her elegant neck. With those eyes and that hair, who else could she be but the Potter’s daughter?

It’s a first, how Miss Potter doesn’t return his smile. She tilts her head back to drain her drink, then turns around and walks away. The back of her dress dips low and his eyes linger in appreciation of a slender waist that curves into generous hips. 

He doesn’t listen to a word Lucius is saying to him, because he _has_ to have her.

So Tom makes the rounds and speaks to everyone worth speaking to. It feels as though time grinds to a halt before he can finally scan the crowd for a head of unruly raven hair. 

Eventually he finds the girl near the foyer, her back against the wall and a glass in her hand, one ankle crossed behind the other.

“Hello, Minister,” she greets as he approaches.

“Hello, Miss Potter. Resting your feet?”

“I’m not one for dancing, really,” the girl says, taking a sip from her glass. Too bad.

“Oh? Why not, if I might ask?”

“Not very partial to having my arse groped and my toes stepped on, I suppose,” she says dryly.

He likes this little minx, Tom thinks, chuckling in amusement. He watches the tips of her nipples press at the thin fabric of her delightful excuse for a dress.

“Lucky for me, then. I won’t lie, I’m glad I’ve caught you alone. You look...” Luscious. Delectable. Utterly indecent. Like he should bend her over a table and—“stunning. Ethereal, really.”

The girl blushes so prettily at the compliment, but having picked that dress to adorn her pert body she _must_ know it. She must know what any man here tonight would be thinking.

“Thank you, sir,” she replies coyly, looking down at his bespoke brogues.

But maybe she really didn’t know. Maybe after all she was pure as the driven snow and all bravado; just a lamb to the slaughter. Even better.

“What’s your name, darling?”

“I’m Holly.” Her rosebud lips form a charming little smile and she extends her hand out for a kiss. A good recovery.

“You don’t look so bad yourself, you know,” she says as he presses his lips to her knuckles.

“Thank you, Holly,” Tom replies, eyes fixed on hers. He releases her hand after a caress of his thumb and catches her shiver at his touch.

“Happy birthday, by the way,” she says sweetly, before asking, “Are you having a good time?” 

“I am, Holly. I can think of something that would make it even better, though.”

Her vivid green eyes unblinking, she all but whispers, “Can you?” 

“Would you like me to show you, darling?” he says just as quietly, leaning in to caress her ear with his question.

“ _Yes_ ,” she says so breathily he can feel his cock twitch.

Tom closes the door and sets wards. He hangs up his jacket and turns to see the girl sitting invitingly at the foot of the bed, but not where he wants her. Not yet.

“Come here, Holly.” 

He takes her into his arms to kiss her deeply, pulls her plump lower lip into his teeth and finds amusement in the little sounds she makes in the back of her throat. When she’s breathless and clutching at his clothes he steps back.

“Stay here. I’d like you to do something for me.” 

Tom sits where she’d been and looks on until she just about fidgets under his appraisal.

“Take off your dress, darling,” he says evenly. “Your necklace too.”

She unclasps the velvet strip from her neck, lifts the satin over her shoulders and lets them fall to the floor. For a moment Tom drinks in the sight of her, naked but for the lacy black knickers covering her mons and the matching ankle strap heels on her feet. The urge strikes to lick her long neck, her little tan nipples. But he would have time for that later.

“Touch your breasts for me,” he says instead. “Pinch your cute nipples.”

Holly does so without question, slowly rubbing and gripping her small breasts, clearly turned on by his authority and instruction.

“Do you touch yourself when you’re alone, Holly?” he asks after a moment. “Do you make yourself come?”

“I do,” she breathes, her stiff nipples between her fingers.

“I want you to touch yourself now. And don’t hold back.”

When Holly starts to put her hand down her knickers he stops her. “Not like that. Through your knickers, love.”

Dainty fingers stroke up and down her covered slit and Tom hardens in his trousers watching the little nymph rubbing off for him. 

Once her are legs are shaking and her breath is hitching, he beckons the girl to the bed. There Tom lays her down to open her up, his pretty little gift, and savours the taste of her. The room is filled with her cries as he sucks unmercifully on her nub.

“You taste divine,” Tom says, pulling back. “And your scent...” He sighs, breathing it in. The he slides a finger inside of her. She arches into it, so he slides in another.

“Do you trust me, Holly?” Tom asks, leaning to look into her emerald eyes as he moved his fingers slowly in and out of her.

“Yes,” she says, her dark lashes fanning over half-lidded eyes.

And then he’s in her head.

Watching as she’s keenly sucking the cock of a tall, handsome Hufflepuff Head Boy in the Prefect’s bathroom at Hogwarts. Swallowing after he comes. Crying out as the boy’s cock pushes inside her in the warm water of the bath—

Kissing and grinding into a pretty, dark-haired Ravenclaw girl in the Room of Requirement. Their skirts pushed up around their waists, their knickers pulled down and hanging around an ankle. Panting into each other’s swollen mouths as the pleasure becomes too overwhelming—

Inching her hand under the skirt of a cute little redhead in the empty Gryffindor common room. Moving aside the strip of the girls knickers and slipping into her quim with one finger. Whispering “One more?” and receiving a sighed affirmative—

Savagely fucking young Malfoy in a dark and disused room, their hate and lust melding into a frenzy of slapping flesh and uttered expletives that echo on the stone. Afterwards she says, “Don’t think this changes anything. You’re still a complete bellend.” (That she let finish inside her...) The boy sneers and replies, “I _know_ it changes nothing, you stupid bint.” But they fuck again before leaving—

Getting pushed out of a kiss ( that _she’d_ initiated ) by a surprised Auror Black after she’d rubbed his cock through the denim of his jeans. They’d been the last two up late this Christmas. He lingers here, on the anger and shame on Black’s face (the fool), on the regret the girl feels, how she’d always had a little crush on her godfather, but now she touches herself at night wondering how his cock would feel inside her—

“Oh Holly...” he says softly, fondly, fingers stilled still inside her. “You’re a dirty little _slut_ , aren’t you?”

“Aren’t you?” he repeats after a moment of her silence.

“I am,“ she whispers. He can hear the arousal in her voice, can feel it in the wetness of her cunt.

He pulls out his fingers and holds them in front of her. “Your sweet little cunt’s made a mess and now you’ll clean it up with your sweet little tongue. Won’t you, darling?”

Holly nods her head and takes his fingers into her mouth hesitantly, but does what she’s been told and sucks them clean.

“Good girl.”

Tom leaves the bed and steps away to remove his cufflinks and fold up his sleeves. Holly watches him from the bed, raising to sit.

“But you’ve been a very naughty girl, haven’t you?”

“Yes, I have,” the girl says provocatively, catching on.

“Yes, who?” Tom asks, lips tilting at the side.

“Yes, sir,” she amends breathily.

“And what happens to naughty girls?”

There’s only silence until Tom repeats, “What happens to naughty girls, Holly?” 

“Naughty girls are punished.”

“That’s right. Now will you turn around and present that tight little arse for me? Will you take your punishment like a good girl?”

“Yes, sir.”

The girl is true to her word even as the pressure increases. Once, twice, thrice, four times, five— until she’s gasping and her arse is pink with the print of his palm. He holds the last until she quivers with anticipation. When Tom slides his fingers inside of her again she’s _so_ very wet. 

She’s perfect, he thinks, bloody _fucking perfection_. 

By now his cock is straining against his trousers, so hard that it hurts. He slides his fingers out of her and unhooks his belt, pushes down his trousers and frees his trapped erection. 

The little nymph moans as he pushes his cock into the tight, wet heat of her without restraint. His hands grip her pink, warm arse as he slides deeper and pulls slowly out again. 

The girl meets his thrusts and begins to pick up speed, but he holds her hips and keeps his pace agonizingly slow. He knows what she wants, has seen the proof of it from her very mind, but she’ll have to ask him for it. Her frustration comes out in a petulant little moan and his mouth twitches at the sound.

“Yes, darling?”

“Please,” she begs, gripping the duvet.

“Please what, love?” he grins, as she tries to grind herself on his cock.

“Fuck me harder—faster...! Please...!”

So he does. He pulls out and pushes back in again in a harsh, steady rhythm, over and over as the little nymph arches into his thrusts. He only slows to take a handful of wild hair in hand and bend over her to ask, “How does my cock feel, darling?” 

“So big,” she breathes, canting her hips and moving beneath him. “So good. Please don’t stop.”

So he doesn’t. Not until she comes as he ruts deep into her from behind, his hands holding her pretty neck—not a lamb to the slaughter, but a siren leading him to ruination over and over again.

Tom turns her over to watch her breasts bounce as he takes her, to see the girl’s face as she cries out in pleasure. He has her every way he wants her. He comes until he can’t any more. In her cunt. In her mouth. In her arse. On her skin.

She looks so beautiful, he thinks afterward, with her olive skin bathed in moonlight and his semen dripping from her breasts. Tom pulls up his trousers and with a silent cast clears away his mess from the girl and the duvet she’s still gripping in her fists. He drops next to her to the sizable mattress.

For a while they lay still on the bed, only the sound of their breath where there had once been the slapping of flesh, her cries of pleasure and his grunts of release. He runs his fingers through her disheveled hair, combs away the tangles he’d put there. The urge to bring her home with him strikes, to take her in his bed throughout the night.

But he can’t. (Not yet. She’ll receive an owl with his congratulations and an invitation to a private dinner after her graduation later that year.) And they shouldn’t linger. Their hosts would wonder after him, the Potters after her. So he sets his clothing to rights and replaces his cuff links. Tom guides the girl to stand, to lift her arms so he can slip that sinful satin back onto her.

“Happy new year, Holly,” he says before kissing the little nymph one last time. Then he slides on his jacket and pockets her knickers on his way out.

~ ~ ~

“Happy new year,” Holly says, watching Riddle leave. Thinking he was an animal in a man’s skin and he might have ruined her for other men.

She sets on the bed and tries to forget the feeling of his cock, the length and thickness of it driving in and out her. She pushes away the thought of his hands around her neck, not obstructing breath, but firm in their hold. She tries to forget the exquisite twist of pleasure and pain when he’d struck her bare arse, or when he’d slid his cock, wet with her slick, into her arse.

In the bathroom she washes away the taste of him (of them) from her mouth. After using the loo, she stops over to look into the long gilt mirror standing in the corner of the room. Riddle hadn’t left any marks that she can see (but she can feel them under her dress, in the heat of her arse and she knows she’ll wake up to bruises at her hips in the shape of his fingertips), so Holly sets to fixing her hair as best she can. 

“Does your father know you left his house wearing that disgraceful garment?” the mirror says, scandalised. “Have some decorum, young lady!”

But Holly only smiles. Then she lifts her dress and touches herself in front of the mirror while it calls her all manner of names.

~ ~ ~

In the wee hours of the morning Holly lays awake in her bed, the surreal feeling of the previous night’s events long since subsided. 

The Minister for Magic had given her a good shag in the Malfoy’s guest wing, covered her in spunk, and stolen her favorite knickers.

Holly imagines when she tells them she’d slipped off with the Minister for Magic himself, Ron would shake his head, “I leave you alone for _thirty_ minutes...!” and Hermione would gasp “Holly Potter...!”, but then ask questions when they were alone, too intrigued to help herself.

If Holly thought Draco would believe her then she’d tell him _too_ , just to see the look on his stupid face.


End file.
